By saaleha|2014-07-06T22:45:00+00:00June 26th, 2014|
On our third night in Kampala, a young singer called AFRI took to the stage at the National Theatre. When she opened her mouth, a hand stretched out from inside it, plunged into my chest and grasped my heart. It held on to the beating lump for the rest of the song and for the one after it, pressing gentle fingerprints into each pulse...
By saaleha|2014-06-14T00:25:12+00:00June 14th, 2014|
Papier Mache sculpture and other new photography.
By saaleha|2014-06-02T21:54:29+00:00June 2nd, 2014|
The writing life is rough. Gritty as sandpaper against the skin of all four of your cheeks. Some people talk of bleeding onto pages, they’re […]